The Dangers of Living
by Kara6
Summary: With Hermione in Bulgaria, Harry stuck at Aunt Marge’s Ron & Ginny in the Burrow, which is falling down, how much worse could this next year be?! We‘ll see- Follow Hary & Co’s 5th year and see if they can survive!
1. The Burrow Is Falling Down

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The Dangers of Living

I do not own Harry Potter or any incorporated characters. It is all J.K. Rowling's; I have just borrowed the genius. J 

A/N: I am desperate for feedback, really. Even constructive criticism helps! Please Read & review.

Chapter One, in which: The Burrow is Falling Down

"And this is the National Bulgarian Hall of Fame," droned on the tour guide. Hermione's eyes were beginning to glaze over, and the girl's bright yellow blouse and her clashing maroon skirt seemed to blend together as they walked through yet _another_ boring building.

"Hermione, darling, isn't this exciting? I'm so glad we came," her mother gushed as they climbed the steps. Patricia Granger grabbed her husband's hand excitedly as they entered the large, imposing structure.

"Yes, mother. It's so educational," Hermione tried to agree; attempting to sound interested. But her tone must have fallen short because her mother's face fell and she looked disappointed.

"Listen, dear," she started. "I know you wanted to spend more time with Viktor and all, and honestly, he's a wonderful boy. I just don't want you getting too close too soon, you understand?" her mother's face was apologetic and sad-looking and Hermione became irritated. Why did her mother always try to goad her into feeling guilty?

Impatiently, she tried to explain. "It's not that, Mother. I don't miss Viktor; he's off playing Quid- er, practicing. It's just that this tour is a little boring."

"Hermione," her dad interrupted sharply, stopping the family just before the entrance on the white marble stes. "This would be an interesting and educational tour if you let yourself be interested. You spend far too much time mulling over things alone and sending letters to your friends. You need to take you head out of the clouds and come back to Earth, with us _normal_ people."

Hermione was hurt, and she found herself fighting tears. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"I don't want to sound harsh, Hermione," her father began. _Well, he's miserably failed at that,_ Hermione thought to herself, biting back the urge to say it out loud. "But you've been on another planet this whole summer. I am proud of your abilities, but really, can't you just be yourself for a moment? Stop worrying about _them_ and spend more time here with us and be normal, if only for the summer."

There was that word again, _normal_. Did her father mean to imply she wasn't normal? Hermione looked up to meet his eyes and saw that they were judging her. Ashamed, she broke eye contact and shifted her gaze to her mother, who was standing a step below Mark Granger, wringing her hands worriedly. Sadly, she lowered her gaze to the floor and blinked back tears that were threatening to fall. She couldn't cry, especially here, in public. She knew that. She knew what was expected of her.

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_I am having a wonderful time here in Bulgaria. I've seen Viktor almost every day, but often he is busy with Quidditch. I haven't been down to the pitch because my parents are so nervous and won't let me go without them. They take tours often, but completely ignore all the wizarding sites I've wanted to visit. I am rather irritated, but I suppose I should be grateful. After all, they were planning a trip to America this year. It's my fault that I made them go to Bulgaria._

But enough of me, how are you? Are all your siblings all right? Have Fred and George made and new tricks recently? And could you say hi to your parents for me, and tank them for sending me the treats. That was very sweet of them

I know it sounds as if I'm begging for news, and that would absolutely correct. Life is so dull with my parents, and I am so worried about you. About everyone.

How is Ron? He's still not speaking to me, and I'm not going to owl him anymore. He can be a jealous prat if he likes too; I'm not going to waste myself trying.

And I'm especially worried about Harry. He doesn't answer any of my questions, when he bothers to write back. And he won't tell me anything! I'm going crazy with curiosity and worry. I wish he would just open up.

Ginny, I'm sorry to bog you down with all my problems. But you are the only person I can write too about things like this. Imagine me sending this letter to Parvati!

With Love,

Hermione "

Wow, thought Ginny, as she folded up the letter and stored it in a chestnut box on her desk. Hermione sounds so sad in her letter.

But as she reflected, almost everyone seemed listless these days. Her father, just this morning had fallen asleep at the breakfast table. Her Mother screamed with surprise, and immediately rushed him upstairs to bed orders "not to get up unless the house was burning down!" Unfortunately, her father was adamant about going to work, and this had set off a huge row. It was loud enough that Molly had put up a silencing charm around the dining room, something she hadn't done it years. As soon as the spell was cast, the house creaked nervously. Any extra pressure on the house itself always threatened to make the walls fall, and it was avoided at all cost. As Ginny reflected, the argument must have been pretty serious if her Mother felt the need to burden the house like that.

In the end, her father ended up taking some homemade pepper-up potion and going to work, albeit a little late. Her mother had stomped off furiously into the kitchen and began slamming pots and pans around, forgetting that breakfast had just been served only an hour ago. Bill, who had popped in for a visit, escaped to Hogsmeade with Fred and George. Ron quickly made his way outside and Ginny was stuck inside alone, with Percy already on the job. She went upstairs and turned on the WWN, but there was nothing to interest her on there. Just as she was about to die from boredom, an unfamiliar owl flew in trough her bedroom window and dropped of a long letter from Hermione. The letter was postmarked two days ago, and the owl must have gone through quite a journey, coming from Bulgaria. Quickly, she hopped off her bed and ran downstairs to get a saucer of water to soothe the bedraggled message carrier, but when she returned to her room, the owl had already left. She ran to her window to try and call it back, but it didn't even look back as it flew off towards the sun.

Stuck up post owls, she thought, resignedly setting the saucer down on the floor. Eagerly, she opened up Hermione's letter, and gasped when she saw there were over two sheets or Muggle notebook paper! She decided to get a snack before delving into a letter this long and popped downstairs for some cookies and milk. She came back up, settled on the floor and began to read.

She had been corresponding with Hermione since the summer before her third year, when they went to the Quidditch World Cup. It was amazing how close two girls could get by just spending a few nights together in a makeshift wizarding tent. Also, Hermione's company, two gossipy girls and 5 quarrelsome boys, was lacking. Ginny was her only close friend who was a girl, and she knew better than to take her for granted.

Almost as soon as she had set down the letter, she heard a ruckus coming from downstairs. She glanced at the clock on her wall, and it only read half past two. It wasn't time for Percy and her father to be home yet, so who was making all that noise?

"George, Fred, tell me now!" she could hear Bill angrily say to the twins. She descended the last flight of stairs and almost did a double take when she saw what was happening. The fireplace flames were a bright green, indicating that they were under the influence of Floo powder. But that wasn't unusual, in the Weasley household, someone was almost always coming or going somewhere through a Floo portal. The unusual part was that George was obviously struggling with removing one of many packages from the fireplace. He grunted as he lifted a particularly heavy white box, and immediately another one appeared. She figured Fred must be on the other side, pushing them through.

"Bill, we would appreciate a little help here," complained George, breathing heavily as he pulled out a brightly wrapped package help together by some blue twine. He threw that package into a growing pile about five meters away from him.

"I'm not helping with anything until you two tell me where you got the money for all these purchases," said Bill obstinately, crossing his arms as he did so.

"Really, William Weasley, you should be ashamed," said Fred, carrying one last box and coming through the fireplace at last. "We haven't robbed Gringotts or anything."

"So how would you explain all these packages?" demanded Bill angrily. "Come on, you two, I want an explanation."

"Some people," Fred began. "Have this little thing called _money_."

"And some of those people who have the foreign object called _money_ use it to buy these crazy items called packages!" George finished,

Bill sighed, knowing he had been beat. "Okay, you two don't have to tell me, as long as you promise it's nothing illegal." The pair furiously nodded their heads up and down. "But hurry and get these boxes and things into your room and don't let Mum see them. She'll go crazy wondering how you got them, and she doesn't need anything else on her mind right now. The twins agreed and began carrying the packages up the stairs, nodding hello to Ginny and motioning her to zip her lips.' Silently, she agreed. She didn't think Mum could take much more either.

She joined Bill in the living room. When she entered, he motioned for her to be quiet and still. His hand was cupped to his ear and he appeared to be listening intently. After a while, he asked, "Do you hear that?"

"No," she said, but she also cupped her hand to her ear and soon she thought she heard what Bill was listening too. "Do you hear it Bill? Those creaks and groans?"

"Yes,'" he said seriously, "what are those? It sounds as if the whole house is about to collapse on us!" And suddenly, at the same time, he and Ginny both remembered the spell Molly had used earlier to drown out her and her husbands disagreeing voices. He ran into the dining room, wand extended, and carefully ventured into it. Each step he took seemed to make the floor quake. Ginny stood in the frame of the door and braced herself against it. She watched as Bill took a deep breath, closed his eyes and pointed his wand towards the wall, which was quaking dangerously. He said _"Finite Incantem" _very quietly and hastily opened his eyes back up in surprise when the dining room ceiling didn't collapse on him. He smiled, and asked Ginny if she heard the sounds any more. Once she had reassured him thatshe didn't, his smile turned into a grin. He was obviously proud that he had managed to save the house from destruction.

But no sooner did they exit the dining room than did Ron come running inside, crashing into them and sent them flying right back into the rickety room which had just been on the verge of collapse. One second earlier, Bill thought wryly, and that flying tackle would have made the whole house come crashing down atop our heads.

But Ron either didn't care or didn't know about the danger his carelessness has almost caused. "I've just received a letter from Dumbledore!" he proclaimed loudly, holding up a piece of parchment in his fist triumphantly while disentangling himself from his siblings. "And he says Harry's allowed to stay!"

TBC(Please Review! Love it, hate it, got any ideas? Let me know!)


	2. Harry Potter, the Last Slave in Britain

Chapter 2: Harry Potter, The Last Slave in Britain

"Oh, you should have seen the look on his face Vernon!" screeched a high-pitched voice. Spit flew everywhere as the large woman spoke. "He loves me, I can tell! Why, he was positively enamored!" she gushed, stroking her ugly brown dog. He was squirming around, trying to get off her humongous lap, but she had him firmly locked down under her pudgy arms.

            Vernon chuckled. "I'm sure he was Marge, I'm sure he was," he said, gazing adoringly at his sister. So far, he had been having a wonderful time at her house. But he was also glad he would be leaving tomorrow, continuing his vacation and his holiday to France.

            Petunia walked into the kitchen, with a bright smile on her face. "I've just finished packing the things into the suitcase, darling," she announced, sitting on Vernon's voluptuous knee. She threw her arms around him as far as they would go, and gave him a tight squeeze. "We're all set for tomorrow."

            Suddenly, Vernon's sister Marge's tone was sharp. She lost the sickly sweet voice she had when speaking of her newest crush, and gained a special one that was also reserved for only one person- Harry Potter.

            "So," she said, hate dripping from her voice in only that one word. "You're leaving that boy with me?"

            "Now, now, Marge," Vernon said hurriedly. "We worked out a deal, remember? Fifteen pounds a day and we also pay for any added expenses. It's only for a week." He worriedly looked at his sister. Her round face was scrunching up in thought.

            "What about the funny business?"

            "There will be none, Marge," Petunia said smoothly. She patted her hair and rose from her husband's knee, her cheerful mood gone, along with Marge's sticky voice. "That had been taken care of."

            "He's dangerous, that boy. I still don't know if I want to do this. If I didn't need the money for bingo…." She trailed off.

            "I know, you wouldn't be doing this," supplied Vernon. "But remember, you can do with him what you like. It's free labor!" he said, desperately trying to quell any last thoughts of doubt in Marge's mind.

            "Rather like a personal slave?" she said, obviously liking the idea.

            Vernon was quick to agree. "Exactly," he said, playing a smile on his face that wasn't unlike the ones crooked used car sellers do just before they've tricked an old lady into buying a junk bucket. But to Marge, it was reassuring grin. The nasty little boy wouldn't try to hurt her, and she would have a personal servant. The deal sounded fine to her.

            But to Harry, who was listening from outside the door, the arrangement sounded absolutely horrible. He knew the Dursley's didn't like him, but how could they do this? Come to think of it, wasn't it illegal, slave labor?

            He had been brought here completely against his will, not that he had ever even stated exactly what his will _was_. This summer, he had been rather subdued, and so quiet, even the Dursley's noticed it and Petunia had even made a comment about it.

            "Cat got you tongue?" she asked one day at breakfast. When Harry shook his head no, she said, "I don't think I've heard you talk since you've come back." Harry didn't know how to answer. He also was baffled as to why his aunt even cared. He just shrugged and studied his piece of bacon and missed the strange look that passed between his aunt and uncle. Petunia nervously cut up her eggs and kept staring at Vernon, as if having a silent conversation. And Dudley was looking back and forth, from his mother to his father, to the top of Harry's head as he tried to figure out what was going on.

            Finally, Vernon cleared his throat and announced that he'd best head off to work. He said he would drop Dudley off over Pier's house on the way, so both father and son left. Petunia didn't say anything until she heard their car start up outside and pull off.

            "Harry," she said quietly, but Harry must not have heard her. He continued moving around the off on his plate, staring out of the window. "Harry," she repeated, louder, this time. He looked up, with a sullen expression on his face.

            His look automatically threw him off. She forgot her planned speech and asked him, a bit angrily, "What are you making that face for? I haven't even assigned you your chores yet!" she said indignantly.

            But Harry still didn't answer. He shrugged again, and speared a huge piece of egg on the end of his fork and popped it in his mouth. He knew this was a sure-fire way to avoid questioning- Petunia was a stickler for rules and manners, and wouldn't ask him another thing until he swallowed hid food, for fear that he would talk with his mouth full.

            Petunia was irked when she saw Harry chewing so slowly. _He knows I want to talk with him,_ she noticed, _and is trying every trick in the book to get out of it_. But she was willing to wait. She had all day, and so did he.

            Finally, he had finished his food. Quickly, before he could create another delay, she whisked his plate away from him. As he looked up in shock, she gave him a cynical smile, letting him know that she knew exactly what he was doing.

            "Harry," she said, trying again. He looked up at her, and she saw his green eyes were dull. They used to remind her constantly of her sister, but not today. They didn't sparkle as her did. "Harry Potter," but this time she seemed to say it more to herself than to him.

            He must have lost his patience, because he finally spoke. "Yes?" he asked, and his voice was gravelly and quiet, even though he had meant to speak loudly. The condition of his voice surprised even him, and he cleared his throat, embarrassed.

            "I was just thinking about how much you used to remind me of your mother," Petunia said, catching Harry off guard. He had never heard her speak of his parents in a way that wasn't an insult.

            "Not anymore?" he asked, controlling his voice carefully.

            "No, not anymore," she answered pleasantly, pleased to have started up a conversation. "Your eyes changed, since last year I suppose. Did you notice at all?"

            Harry turned bright red. He never would admit it, but he had been staring at his eyes in his reflection just that morning, and had thought the exact same thing. Now his eyes were a normal green, not setting them apart from the crowd. He shrunk down in his seat uncomfortably, not quite sure why he felt too ashamed about this. It wasn't like he had any control over what color his eyes were.

            Taking his silence as a yes, Petunia continued, "It must have been something that happened at- your school," she said, almost choking on the last two words. How odd it was to call it something that normal, without a negative adjective attached to it.

            Harry shifted in his seat. On a whole, this conversation was very unnerving and it had just taken a turn for the worse. So far, he had managed to only think about school in his dreams. To have it brought up in an idle conversation, especially by his aunt, hurt. A lot. It must have showed in his face however, because his Aunt Petunia didn't even give him a chance to respond to that statement. Harry was glad for the reprieve, because he wasn't sure of what he would have replied. He certainly couldn't tell her the story. He could never share personal information with his aunt. She'd only find some way to use it against him in the future.

            But what she filled the silence with was so unexpected; Harry almost fell out his chair with shock. It turned out to be the exact opposite of what he had just been thinking. "If you ever need to talk, I'm here, Harry," she said, with a genuine look of concern on her face. Harry recovered and looked at her, trying to judge her expression. He received another shock when he realized that she was being honest. Didn't she hear how ridiculous that proclamation had sounded? When someone says, "I'm there for you," it's usually not the person who has despised you for the past 14 years of your life and made it a living hell. And especially not when they sound so completely sincere.

            What Aunt Petunia said had made Harry feel a jolt of emotions- shocked, angry, sad and confused. He was at a complete loss of words. So, to remedy at best what could be called an awkward situation, he decided to remove himself from it. He got up, took his plate off the counter where his aunt had placed it and rinsed it off. Petunia just watched him silently, realizing her offer had been all but turned down. But just before he walked out of the kitchen, she called to him one last time.

            "Do you ever wish you were Harry Dursley?"

            Harry stopped dead in his tracks. Then, without even thinking over the question, he shook his head furiously no and ran outside the side door to the garden.

            Petunia was left alone in the kitchen with a single tear trickling down her cheek, wondering if her relationship with her dead sister's son could ever be salvaged.

            Hermione was laying down in her uncomfortable hotel back, looking out the window at the stars. Her parents were right about one thing, she concluded. She did spend a lot of time thinking and worrying about her friends. But that was because they needed it. Especially Harry.

            She had been saying that phrase a lot- 'especially Harry.' Just recently, she had written it in a letter to Ginny, and had said it aloud in a conversation with Viktor. But Harry was that way with her; he had his own part in her heart in which no one else was included. Not even Viktor. Harry was special, and not in the magical sense.

            Hermione re-read the letter she had just gotten from him. But she didn't know why she bothered; it didn't really say anything. It was nothing more than a polite cordial response to her long note she had sent him previously. And when she had still been on writing terms with Ron, he had said that he was getting the same type of letters in response from Harry. Someone needed to go talk to him and find out what was really going on, and she desperately wished it could be her. If she had the opportunity, she would jump at the chance to fly out of Bulgaria and go straight to Surry, and try to have a real conversation with her best friend.

            She was startled out of her contemplation and fantasies when the phone rang beside her, right into her ear. Irritated, she picked it up and said "Hello?" into the earpiece.

            "Hermione?" said a thickly accented voice. "Is that you?"

            "Yes, this is she," replied Hermione. "Viktor?" she asked in disbelief.

            "Yes, it's me. I vas vorrying that I had rang the wrong number," he said, the concern evident in his voice.

            "No, no, you've done it just fine," she rushed to reassure him. "But, a telephone? I didn't even know you had one…"

            "We don't," he said, confirming her suspicions, "But a bloke on my team told me how to get your number, and then I found a telephone booth. Not so hard," he chuckled.

            "Oh," said Hermione, surprised. She eased back onto her bed. "But why call? Why don't you just come up to the room, or wait until tomorrow? Aren't we going to take a walk after your practice?"

            "Are your parents there?" he asked unexpectedly, not even bothering to answer her questions.

            "No, they're out for a drink," said Hermione impatiently. "But Viktor, I thought-"

            "I need to see you now," he interrupted. "Please come meet me."

            "Now?" Hermione asked. "It's after ten!"

            "Please," said Viktor, pleading. "It's important."

            "Well, alright, I suppose," Hermione agreed uncertainly. "Where are you?"

            "On Bolshevik, right near the bridge. And hurry, it's important." He hung up abruptly, and Hermione was left with the sound of a dial tone. Gently, she hung up the phone, slipped on her shoes and put on her jacket. She turned off the light and snuck out of the hotel into the humid darkness of a warm Bulgarian night.

TBC…

**A/N: So if you're reading this, I assume you've read my story so far and I'd just like to say thanks. And I'd also like to let everyone know that I've just come back for seeing Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and it was great! I even had a new idea for a story, right there in the middle of the theater! If only Harry's eyes were green, though. ****L******

**Xavien: Thank you for reviewing! More on Aunt Marge in later chapters, and more on Hermione's family problems as well!**

Callas-and-ivy: You have no idea how glad I am that you are my first reviewer! I was starting to think I wouldn't have one…Keep reading and reviewing!

**PLEASE REVIEW; EVERYTHING HELPS! And it's nice to know that people care enough to comment. Just leave a line!**


	3. Molly Looks Closer and Surprises are Fou...

Dis: Not mine, not yours…unless you're JK, which in that case WHERE IS BOOK 5?!

Chapter 4- Molly Looks Closer And Surprises are found

(Rather long title)

            There were 6 people seated the dinner table- every single one of them with red hair. No one ever seemed to notice that Molly luckily had red hair as well. It was just a shade darker than her husband's was; almost more brown than red, but still fit in with the signature Weasley tones. She looked at her husband, his graying hair was helter-skelter as usual, but he was smiling happily in a conversation with her eldest son Bill, whose hair was still long and bound by leather strap. His fang earring dangled as he nodded excitedly, agreeing to whatever his father was saying. Now, he also had what seemed to be s long, dangerous looking claw in a second piercing right near the first. But she wouldn't worry about that now, she'd pester him about it later.

            Next to him, there were Fred and George, her two troublemakers. They were whispering together as usual, probably making plans for more pranks to pull. In a way, Molly was proud of them- they showed a lot of ambition. If only it were for something not quite as annoying.

            Charlie, next to them, was animatedly talking about quidditch with Ron. He could have gone professional- if he hadn't gone off chasing after those ruddy dragons. She knew he had always been talented with animals, but when he left, it, well, came as a bit of a shock. She saw him the least out of all her children and he always looked different- one more burn, or he was more tan. He was also quiet and easygoing, and got along well with Fred and George.

            Ron was happily speaking with Charlie across the table. His long nose wrinkled in disgust as he disagreed with something Charlie had just said, and he pushed is flaming red hair out of his face impatiently- it was getting a little long. He waved his lanky arms about, seemingly describing a quidditch play.

            Next to him was Ginny. She was the only other Weasley besides Molly who wasn't in conversation, but she wasn't watching her family with a smile on her face as Molly was. She was picking at her plate, which had many of her favorite foods. Molly could barely see her face because her dark auburn hair was hiding most of it. Suddenly, Molly took a long look at that hair- hadn't it once been the brightest of them all? Now it more resembled her own demure red, and was quickly losing its fire. Figuring it wouldn't hurt to ask, Molly leaned over the empty chair next to her to speak to Ginny.

            "Gin, hon," Molly said, trying to catch her youngest child's attention. "Have you done anything to your hair lately?"

            Ginny fingered her long straight hair absentmindedly. "No, Mum. What do you mean?"

            "Well," Molly said delicately; "It just looks a bit darker, that's all." Curiously, Ginny pulled some strands in front of her face and peered at it closely. "Are you sure you haven't done anything?"

            "Quite certain," Ginny replied confidently. "But, Mum, when did you…What I mean to say is…When did you notice the change?" Ginny stumbled over her words.

            Molly frowned. "Just now, actually. But let me think back a bit." Ginny bit her lip nervously as Molly settled into her chair in thought. "Since you came back from school, I would guess. Are you sure no one did anything there?" she frowned.

            "Absolutely certain," Ginny said. But she was paling a little, and her few freckles began to stand out more prominently. Hastily, she stood up, excusing herself from the table. Ron called out in protest, saying something about not announcing his 'big news' yet. But Ginny strode quickly inside. She took the stairs two by two up to her room on the third landing. She locked the door, sat on her bed and began to quietly cry.

*********************************

            Harry tossed and turned in his cot, praying for sleep to come. He looked at the illuminated clock on the desk and groaned when he saw it read half past two. Usually, sleep wasn't a very restful thing for him anymore, but tonight had to be different. He was stuck at Aunt _Marge's house. He was almost one hundred percent sure that there would be a book full of chores for him to complete as soon as he woke up. Which, at the rate he was going, looked like never, because he still couldn't get to sleep. He flipped and flopped, turning round and round. At one point, his old cot gave a menacing creak when he rolled over and he froze instantly. He didn't want to know what Marge was like if she was awoken from her slumber. For a moment he just listened, but when the resounding snores kept coming at even intervals, he relaxed again. He stared at a spot on the ceiling; hoping sleep would come soon. Harry was also hoping for no pains._

            Nowadays, he felt pain in his scar at least every other day. Only a week after school let out, it had seemed like a constant, throbbing pain. Muggle medicines like Advil and Motrin didn't help, and neither did a cool, wet rag. H had to bear the brunt of the pain. But surprisingly, his pains were not accompanied by dreams. He also hadn't heard of anyone getting hurt. He mulled these thoughts over in his head, but they did not seem to add up.

            Sometime while Harry was thinking, he must have finally drifted off to sleep. But all too soon, he heard a knock on the basement door. He leapt up quickly to turn the knob and allow the person entrance, because they were pounding so hard it seemed as if the door was about to be knocked right off of it's hinges.

            Harry swung back the door, and standing before was Aunt Marge. Her lavender nightgown billowed out around her large middle but only reached mid-calf. Her legs seemed to be missing ankles, and went straight from portly calves to stumpy feet. He almost screamed in shock when he looked down further and saw brown, gnarled toenails that she had tried (and failed) to disguise with alarmingly bright orange nailpolish.

            Marge's deep and booming voice startled Harry out of his horror. He looked up to her face and she said, 'I have no use for you today, boy."

            "What?" Harry said. He couldn't believe. No book of chores? Did she not see him? He might as well have had a sign on that read "Harry Potter- free labor!"

            "Don't make me repeat myself!" she growled, turning her back. Harry's mouth was still hanging wide open. "Just get out, and don't come back until well after dinner. Take a walk or something, I don't know what it is you troubled children do." She thundered around the corner, but harry was scampering after her, hardly able to believe his good luck.

            "Are- are you sure you don't need anything done?" he asked, double-checking to make sure his hearing hadn't suddenly gone bad.

            Marge turned abruptly, and all her fat shifted dangerously when she whirled around. Harry was so close to her that her potbelly almost touched him, and he could make out the bunnies on her nightgown even without his glasses. She bent down a little so that she was on eye-level with Harry and very close to his face. Then she bellowed, "Get out!"

            Three times was all he needed to be told. Harry scrambled out of the tight hallway and back to the basement. He quickly threw on some clothes and then followed Marge's advice- he got out. Just as he was sneaking through the back door, wondering what had blessed him and made him so lucky, he saw a red car pull into the driveway. A stout man wearing a bright red suit hauled himself out from behind the wheel, and he smoothed down his greasy hair using the side-mirror. Then he ducked back into the car, gathering a bouquet of flowers. His black shoes clicked against the ground as he strode up the steps of Marge's house and matter-of-factly pushed the buzzer. Harry groaned when he realized what was happening. Aunt Marge had a boyfriend.

            It was all Harry could do to not be queasy. When he saw the door open and the suitor slide in, he made an escape for it. Quickly, he found himself around the block, walking on a lane where the houses seemed to get very far apart and large. He had no idea where he was going, so he just shuffled down the street with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He kicked at pebbles on the road, but a car honked its horn loudly at him. It was then he realized he had swerved out too far and if he wasn't careful, a vehicle would run him over. He scurried closer to the curb, but kept his eyes up and peeled open this time. He soon found that all the postboxes had family names on them, and he read those so that he wouldn't be distracted to look back towards the ground.

            Klein, Smith, and Woodbury_…_the names just passed through his mind without a second thought. But he did notice that the Welch's had a very pretty daughter, who was sunning herself outside in her front yard, wearing nothing but a bikini. His cheeks flushed when he realized his train of thoughts and he silently berated himself. He felt dishonest towards Cho for having feelings, no matter how hormonal, towards another girl. But he realized the more he thought of Cho, the less and less he liked her. He never knew her well to begin with, and now thinking of her made him think of…Well, anyway, during his walk he came to the conclusion that Cho was just a fleeting fancy, and that he didn't have feelings for anyone right now.

            He went back to reading the postboxes. Lane, Mead, Granger… He backtracked so quickly he almost tripped on his own feet. Granger?! As in _the _Hermione Granger? It had to be too good to be true. Disbelievingly, he took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. But when he looked back at the name, it still read the same thing: Granger, in black, painted on letters that looked like they had been done very neatly, and just gone over recently.

            Harry quickly drew a deep breath and looked up at the house. It was very large- the kind of home the Dursley's only dreamed of owning. The sizeable house was white and had light blue shutters that framed most of the windows. The grass was a bright green and perfectly manicured. It looked to be about three stories and Harry could see what seemed to be a mini forest of sorts in the backyard. The house itself was very far back from the street and had a small path that ran to the large wooden double doors at the front of the house, that was framed with small rosebushes and small pink flowers in a constant pattern.

            Was it possible? He hadn't heard from Hermione in at least a week- no letters had come while they were on the road or at Aunt Marge's house. He had received his last one while he was still at the Dursley's, who were treating him warily, but speaking to him enough to assign him what seemed like endless chores. Among those, a new one had been added to the list- make minor repairs to the living room, which was never the same after the Weasley's last visit. But none of that meant that this couldn't be his best friend's house. Making up his mind, he slowly started to walk up the walkway, approaching the imposing doors in the otherwise comfortable house. He drew his courage and knocked on the door, three times, using the large brass knocker. He found himself holding his breath as the doorknob began to turn…

To be continued!

A/N: So...here we are again. Thank you for the continuing reviewers- 

Xavien- we will find all about Hermione and the Granger's in the next chapter, which I'll hope you will read.

Callas-and-ivy- Petunia's secret won't be reveled for a while. Sorry!

And Ian, thank you all for reviewing!!!! You guys make my day!


	4. Hidings and Findings

Disclaimer: Don't own it, not making any money..ladeda.

Chapter 4- Hidings and Findings

            Anxiously, Hermione looked out for the landmark bridge. She kept her eyes downcast as she passed the strangers, who appeared to be threatening and dangerous in the shadows of the streets. She wasn't sure if she was still in muggle Burgas, a city on the coast of the Black Sea, or if she had inadvertently strayed into the wizarding area. If only her parents had let her research and explore the magical side of Bulgaria! They had gone out for drinks downtown with some friendly Americans visiting the country as well, having their fun. Well, Hermione thought defiantly, now she was having her own fun as well. Here she was, in a foreign country, on a secret rendezvous to visit her older boyfriend. It sounded like something out of a cheap romance novel. Now, if only it felt that way. It was hard to make-believe it was something that nice when she could feel blank stairs ogling her scantily clothed body. She pulled her coat around her tighter, despite the heat, and breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the bridge, brightly illuminated by many streetlights.

            "Viktor?" she called out uncertainly. She peered around a dark alleyway. If she didn't find him soon, she would turn around and go back to the hotel. She didn't feel comfortable wandering around late at night with no purpose. "Viktor!" she tried again.

            Suddenly, a rough pair of hands grabbed her around her waist. Too startled to even scream, Hermione struggled against the hands. But they only wrapped tighter around her middle with every wrench she made to get away.

            "Hermione," said a rough whisper. "Calm down!" said the voice more frantically.

            "Viktor!" said Hermione loudly, furious. "What in the world were you thinking?" she yelled.

            Quickly, Viktor clapped his hand around her mouth. Hermione's eyes widened and she attempted to scream, but his grip was firm. Picking her up with his other arm as if she weighed no more than a small child. He walked three steps and then sat her down gently on a bench. "Hermione," he whispered, still not taking his large hand off her mouth, "I need you to rust me for a second, please." But her brown eyes were still wild, and Viktor could tell that if he let her go, she would scream. "Please, Hermione," he pleaded. "I didn't mean to hurt you…but we need to be quiet and I have to talk to you." Slowly, she nodded. Viktor had a tight-lipped smile, and slowly he let his hand off her face. "I'm sorry," he apologized. But Hermione was silent and refused to look him in the face.

            "I need to tell you something…and it's going to come as a shock."

            Slowly, Hermione lifted her head and looked him in the eye. "You're forgiven…I-" she stumbled, looking for the right words, "I just didn't know what you were thinking, or who you were. You scared me half to death, Viktor."

            He smiled sadly. "I know, Hermy-own," he said, using his nickname for her. "I just didn't know vhat else to do!" he cried, anguished. Immediately, he looked around, seeing if anyone had heard his outburst.

            Concerned, Hermione asked, "What is it?"

            Viktor grabbed her hand and led her around a corner to deserted street. "They've come after me, Hermione. They vant me to join them!"

            "They?" she repeated, confused.

            "The Deatheaters. They vant me."

**********

            Ron struggled as he climbed up the old tree in their backyard. From their living room window, he was pretty sure he could see red mixing in with the green of the leaves on the tree, and he was pretty sure that that meant Ginny was perched up their somewhere. His hands gripped the tough bark tightly, but his palms were sweaty and one slipped off of the tree. Wildly, he grabbed for a handhold, but the best he could come up with was a tiny twig. He balanced precariously on a small branch holding him up, and he was grabbing the twig tightly. His left leg was wrapped around the trunk of the tree in an awkward attempt to not fall to the ground.

            But soon enough, the skinny branch broke and sent him sliding down the tree, his leg rubbing raw on the trunk. "Who is that?" Ginny called out below her, into the masses of leaves. She heard Ron's groan of pain, and immediately identified him. "Oh, Ron," she complained, and extended a slender, tanned arm to help him get up.

            'Thanks," Ron said. He sat on a think, gnarled branch next to her and began to wipe leaves and sticks off his clothes and out of his hair. "How in the world do you get up here?" he asked good-naturedly. 

            Ginny just scowled. "It's easy, when you're small. But with your long legs and monstrous arms, I'm not surprised you had some trouble."

            Ron grinned back at his sister. "Hey!" he said. "I didn't come up here just to be insulted by my baby sister."

            Obviously, Ginny was in no mood for joking. She just turned to Ron and asked pertinently, "Well then, why _did_ you come up here?"

            For a moment, Ron was at a loss for words. He tried to think of a good lie, but stopped short of saying it when he realized Ginny would be able to see right through it. "I- I came to check up on you," he admitted.

            "Who sent you?" Ginny questioned, sounding more bored than angry. Her brothers had been "checking up" ever since school had ended, and, frankly, it had become a tad annoying.

            "No one." When Ginny gave him a long, hard, stare, reminiscent to their mother's, Ron repeated it again. "Honestly," he confirmed. "I just came to see you myself." He gulped hard. "I'm worried about you, Gin. You haven't been talking a mile a minute lately, and no one knows what's wrong with you." He tried again to make her laugh with his incessant teasing.

            It hadn't worked. "I'm just tired, that's all," she said listlessly, inadvertently picking a lone bright green leaf off the tree.

            Ron sighed, apparently frustrated. "There's more to it than that, Gin," he said. "Your excuses may work for everyone else, but not for me. I'm Ron, your closest brother, and I know you."

            "Not anymore," she whispered quietly, immediately regretting it afterwards. She kept her head down, not wanting to look at Ron, as if avoiding his stare would make her words disappear.

            "What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled. "We've always been the closest. Don't tell me suddenly Percy's stepped in and took my place!"

            She finally met his piercing stare. "No one's taken it Ron, it's just simply…disappeared." She could tell by his expression he was hurt. "It's no one's fault, Ron," she explained. "It was natural, I suppose. You went off to school and found new friends. I should have as well."

            "You didn't have a chance to," Ron said quietly. "Because of Rid- Volde-…You-Know-Who," Ron fished around, trying to figure out what to call him. "I should have been there for you."

            "No use crying over split milk," Ginny said, using one of her Mother's old adages. Ron didn't know how to respond to that. So he just sat uncomfortably on the branch and watched Ginny try to look everywhere but at him. Ron, however, studied her. Her eyelashes were long, and a very deep brown that matched her dark brown eyes. But they also looked odd on her skin, which was tan from being outside so much but didn't have a healthy glow. Instead, underneath she looked pale. Her straight hair was dark, but lacked luster or shine. It hung limp, falling just past her shoulder blade that he could see prominently through her thin summer shirt. Ron had to admit it to himself- she just didn't look well. Mum's homemade pepper-up potions didn't even seem to be working, and none of the Weasley's had ever known those to fail. 

            "No use trying to avoid it, Ginny," Ron said suddenly, shattering the quietness of the backyard.

            "What?" asked Ginny, confused. What was Ron talking about?

            "I'm going to figure it out, and I'd much rather you tell me as opposed to me being a snoop and sneaking about," stated Ron.

            "Ron Weasley, what on Earth are you talking about?"

            "You. Virginia Marie Weasley, please just tell me what's wrong!" Ron cried, thoroughly exasperated at his sisters obstinacy.

            Ginny looked at Ron for a long time, but his expression of worry never changed. Finally, she broke down and told him. "It's only been since the end of school, you know." But Ron didn't say anything, in fear that interrupting might make her stop talking. "That's when they started." But Ron couldn't curb his curiosity any longer, and his impatience got the better of him.

            "What started Gin?" he asked. She was quiet for a while, and he was afraid that she had decided not to tell him. But then she said-

            "The dreams. Those horrible nightmares. And in each of them, there's the same…same thing!" She took a deep breath, and looked paler than usual. Her white skin contrasted greatly to her dark red hair, that was slowly intermingling with brown strands and looking less and less like the trademark Weasley orange each day.

            "What thing is in them?" Ron said, leaning in closer. "Is it really bad, Gin?"

            She nodded slowly. "It's Voldemort."

            Ron, responding with pure shock, tipped over, and promptly fell right out the three story high tree, descending to the ground at an alarming rate. Ginny screamed wildly and Mrs. Weasley, baking pies in the kitchen was startled when the glass pie holder shattered in her hands. She looked at the runny mess that was left in her hands and the shards of sharp glass the suddenly were lying around her feet. Then she grabbed her wand off a shelf in the kitchen and ran outside, through the back paddock door. She had a clear view of her youngest son plummeting rapidly towards the ground.

TBC……..

A/N: Lots of cliffies today, aren't there. It has been a while since I've last updated, but I haven't had any real urge to write. But I wanted to get a chapter up before next year!

Xavien: Of course it's a small world! That's the way it has to be, for the plot of my story to continue! :) No…I don't think the boyfriend's spotted the toenails yet…How was the Hermione scene?

Tezka: Thank you for the compliments! More cliffhangers in this chapter.

Thank you too Lei Dumbledore, amaya, hp-crazed, and everyone else who read! (And also reviewed…hint hint, nudge nudge.)


	5. Unexpected Surprises

            A/N Ok, well I've made some sort of massive mistake. FYI, the timelines are all off, don't try to match them up. It gave me something of a migraine when I attempted to do it. For the Weasley's, the day Molly noticed Ginny's hair was before Ron fell out the tree. Hermione's call and trip were on the same day. Harry's finding out about his stay with Aunt Marge happened before his trip to the Granger house, and the conversation he had with Petunia was a flashback that had happened earlier that summer. Ack, now I've gone and confused everyone! I'll try to fix it all so everyone is passing time at the same rate. Not this chapter, but the next one. I send great and countless apologies for being such a bad author!!

Chapter 5: Unexpected Surprises 

            Harry watched with trepidation as the doorknob turned. The door began to crack, but just as suddenly, it was quickly shut again. A small voice could be heard coming form the inside.

            "Who's there?" it squeaked. It could was barely audible from behind the thick wooden doors.

            How was he supposed to answer this question? If he said Harry, he was quite certain they person at the door would have no idea who he was. It was apparently not Hermione, and he had never really heard her parents, but he assumed they didn't sound like a six-year-old.

            "It's a friend from Hermione's school," he decided to reply, "Harry Potter."

            Quite abruptly, the door swung open to reveal a small boy in pajamas. They were bright green and had an image of Batman on the front. "Mum says I'm not to open the door to strangers," he announced, still holding the door open widely.

            Harry was baffled. "Then why did you open it to me? I certainly don't know you," he added frankly.

            The boy looked up to speak with Harry. His forest green eyes were very serious. "Because you're from Hermione's school."

            Harry didn't have time to ponder this odd answer. Hermione's name immediately reminded him of the reason why he had knocked in the first place. "Er-," he started, "this might sound rather weird, but does Hermione, by any chance, live here?"

            When the boy shook his head, sending his brown curls flying around, Harry felt his heart sink to his feet. His distress must have been evident on his face however, for the boy said more.

            "I'm Luke, Hermione's cousin. She doesn't live here, but I do," he said, visibly trying to appease Harry's suffering. But it didn't have the effect that he expected it to, for all Harry did as say:

            "Well, thanks Luke. I'll be going now." And he turned and began to walk back down the path leading to the street.

            "Wait!" cried Luke, running out the house after Harry, "I know something!"

            "What do you know?" said Harry without turning, trying to be polite, but he was too put out to really care.

            "I know about Hermione!" cried the little boy loudly, "I know she's a witch!"

            That got Harry's attention. He looked around to see if anyone had heard, but the street was deserted as it had been before, save for the occasional passing car. "What do you mean?" Harry responded warily, not letting on if Luke suspicions were correct or not.

            "You're from her school, aren't you?" Luke confirmed. His voice was a little shaky. He was nervous, wondering if he shouldn't have been so quick to blurt out his secret. What would happen now?

            Much to his relief, Harry nodded slowly and Luke let out a large sigh. "What do you know about it?" asked Harry, speaking very quietly.

            "Not very much," Luke admitted. "But I suppose that's better than nothing, I'm not even supposed to know anything!" he said proudly.

            "Is there anywhere where we could talk about this, perhaps?" asked Harry. "Not out here, in the open?" he was curious to hear what this little boy, Hermione's cousin, knew about magic and whatnot. It would take his mind off of his disappointment for the time being, if nothing else.

            "Oh, that's right," squeaked Luke. "This is supposed to be a big secret, isn't it?" Harry almost laughed out loud at him, but managed to keep it in when he realized he was being completely serious about his realization. "Well," said Luke, after a few moments thought, "Mum is on a shopping trip and Dad's gone into the office. But Maggie, that's my nanny, is home. We could go in the backyard," he suggested, looking up hopefully.

            "Will she mind that I'm there?" Harry asked. "I'm still a stranger, after all," he reminded him.

            "She won't even notice. I have two little sisters- they're twins," Luke explained. "Patty and Portia. They keep her so busy usually I'm alone anyways."

            That satisfied Harry. They began to walk to the backyard, Luke leading the way. Every once in a while, he would look back, as if checking to see if Harry was still there. Harry was having a hard time stifling his laughter. So far, Hermione's young cousin seemed to not like Hermione herself at all.

            As they turned around back, Harry saw the house was even more impressive from behind. There was a large porch attached to the back of the house, and a gazebo situated in one corner. He thought there was an in-ground Jacuzzi right off the porch, but he wasn't sure. He was being led in the opposite direction, toward a small wooden swingset. Luke climbed into the seat of one of the swings, and Harry sat down in the other.

            "Blimey," said Luke in awe after Harry was seated. "You're a wizard, aren't you?"

            Harry finally let himself chuckle. "Yes, I am." But his curiosity finally got the better of him, and he asked Luke a question. "How do you know about all this?"

            Luke smiled, evidently proud of his knowledge. "I'm not supposed to know," he said again, "but Aunt Patricia and Uncle Thomas are awful bad a hiding secrets. From me, at least. But mostly, Hermione tells me stories when she baby-sits. They're about a magical school named Hogwarts, and sometimes about a bad guy named…Well, he never has a name. I always thought that was a little odd."

            Harry sighed, "He has a name all right. I suppose Hermione just doesn't want to say it either," he guessed.

            "What is it, what is it then?" asked Luke impatiently, bouncing up and down in the seat of the swing. "She told me hundreds of stories about these things, but I'd love to know the bad guys name!"

            "Voldemort," Harry answered quickly. The name never held the fear for him as it did for others.  "But how did you figure out her stories were really true?"

            "I really didn't know, until last year," Luke said, "But then one day I was playing in Hermione's room- it always bothers her greatly when you disorganize her things," he added, a hint of mischievousness in his eyes, "And I found he scrapbook. I just decided to open it up and I found all sorts of things!"

            "Like what?" Harry pressed. This was really interesting, actually. Either that or he was so desperate to hear from his friends that he resorted to tales told by a six-year-old.

            "A letter, from Hogwarts, saying she'd been accepted. Moving pictures!" he said excitedly, squirming in his seat again. "And letters. Tons and tons of letters. From Ron, Ginny and Harry." Suddenly, he stopped talking. "Blimey," he said for the second time. His eyes were full of admiration. "You're that same Harry, aren't you!"

            "Yes," said Harry, not making the same connection the boy had yet.

            "You're friends with Hermione!" he said, becoming more excited.

            "Right again," Harry said, still not catching on.

            "And one in the same as the Harry that defeated Voldemort!" Ah. Now Harry understood what Luke was on about.

            "Yes," he admitted sullenly. "One in the same."

            Luke picked up on his lack of enthusiasm. "You don't sound very happy about it," he noted.

            "It's just," Harry sighed, "It hadn't been a very good thing lately. Not me, not Voldemort, not anything. I can't even talk to Hermione, or Ron."

            "Well of course you can," said Luke matter-of-factly.

            "Can what?" said Harry, still sounding depressed.

            "Talk to Hermione. I really wouldn't know about Ron," he answered.

            "How?" Harry said, brightening up. "I haven't received any owls, and that's the only way to communicate."

            "Of course it's not," retorted Luke, as though he was talking to someone much younger. "You could walk over there, for instance."

            Harry shook his head. "I don't know where Hermione lives," he said. "At first, I thought this was her house."

            "She lives right round the corner," Luke informed Harry. "No use going there, of course. She's visiting Bulgaria right now." Luke giggled. "To see her _boyfriend_."

            Harry wasn't aware that Hermione was visiting Krum in Bulgaria. Why hadn't she owled and told him? Admittedly, his own owls had been rather short. He wasn't hadn't been in any mood to write lately, or talk even. This was most definitely the longest conversation he'd had since he left Hogwarts. "Well then how would I talk with her then?" he asked irritably, more upset with the fact he hadn't known Hermione's whereabouts than with Luke.

            "I forgot you're a wizard," Luke said absentmindedly, getting out of the swing seat and beginning to stroll towards the house.

            Harry jumped out of his seat as well and jogged a few stapes to catch up with Luke. "What in the world ahs that got to do with anything?"

            "It means you don't know how to use a phone, I guess," he said.

            Harry was indignant. "Of course I do!" he responded. "Not all wizards are completely ignorant of Muggle things."

            "I hear Ron is."

            "Ron," Harry stated, "is different. He grew up around all magic, all the time. I live with Muggles."

            "I'm a Muggle," said Luke, and he didn't seem to be proud of it. "Really though, I hope maybe I could turn out to be a wizard. I'd like to be something like Ron when I grow up."

            Now Harry was rather offended. "Nothing like me?" he asked, wanting to know why his best friend had been picked over him. He wasn't jealous or anything of the sort, just curious. And perhaps a little put out, after all, he was acquainted with Luke, and Ron had never even heard of him.

            "No!' said the boy surprised. When Harry didn't respond, he tried to explain further. "There's nothing wrong with you, of course," he pacified Harry's hurt pride, "But you don't seem like a very fun person to be. You're always battling Voldemort, and never have time to live."

            Luke's candid statement stopped Harry in his tracks. But the seven-year-old (He was small for his age) was oblivious to his frankness, as most children are, and kept right on talking. "Stay here," he ordered Harry, failing to see he had stopped walking several steps ago. "I'll be right back."

            Harry was left with his thoughts. Never had time to live? He let the words slowly sink in, realizing what they meant. And as the minutes passed, he realized he agreed. Just as he was deciding what this meant, Luke came running back out of the house. Harry snapped out of his reverie. He hadn't even noticed Luke had gone inside. But here he was, impatiently tugging on Harry's arm, trying to get his attention.

            "Here," he said, stuffing something into Harry's hand. Harry unfolded the crumpled piece of paper. Written on it, in a childish and hurried scrawl was a very long number, separated by dashes. He looked down at Luke for an explanation.

            "It's a phone number," Luke clarified. "Hermione's! Now you can call her!" he announced, obviously pleased with himself. "And don't worry, she knows how to work a phone. She's not like Ron." He giggled to himself. Hermione must have told him the story of Ron trying to call the Dursley's, he noted absentmindedly.

            "Thanks," he said, after it was apparent Luke was waiting for him to say something. "Really, I mean it. Thanks a lot." His gratitude earned a large smile from the by, revealing several missing teeth. 

            "You have to go now though," said Luke, still grinning. "Maggie says it's almost time for lunch, and I don't know what she would do if she found you out here."

            "Okay," said Harry. "I'll leave now. Thanks again," he said to Luke. He started to stride off, out of the backyard.

            "Will you come visit again, Harry?" Luke called after his retreating form.

            "Sure," answered Harry back. After a moment, he realized he actually meant it. "And I really hope you are a wizard too," he said sincerely. "You'd make a very good one."

            If he had turned around, he would have seen the biggest smile ever light up Luke's face and the admiration glow even stronger in his eyes.

*****

            "He'll be fine, Mrs. Weasley," reassured a St. Mungo's doctor, Dr. Overhill. And surprisingly, the fretting Mrs. Weasley was reassured. Possibly because her red hair reminded her of her family, but no matter what it was, the doctor was thankful the woman finally had clamed down a bit. She had been worrying the whole staff in the minor injuries wing for the last two hours, hovering over them and trying to tell them how to run their jobs. At first it was amusing, but then it became downright maddening. Dr. Overhill had been sent as a delegate and somewhat of a ploy to calm Mrs. Weasley down and keep her out of the doctor's hair.

            "Am I allowed to go in there yet?" she questioned, depositing her wand into a pocket in her cloak. "It's almost been and hour since I've seen my baby!" she wailed, tears moistening her eyes.

            Quickly, Dr. Overhill tried to get the situation back under control. "Certainly you're allowed to see your own son!" she cooed, gently grabbing Mrs. Weasley by the elbow and began to lead her through the hallways. "I'm taking you to him now, he's just fine, you'll see." Soon, but not quickly enough for either woman, they reached the room where Ron was laying in a bed, as a patient.

            "Oh, Ronald!" cried Mrs. Weasley as she rushed in. She found a chair in the small room and pulled it eight up next to the bed. "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked lovingly.

            Ron made a face. "Fine, Mum, really." But he could see this didn't convince his Mother. Concern was practically written all over her face. "Honestly, Mum, I'm none worse for the wear. All I've got are a few scratches and broken arm."

            Those were not the right words to pacify Mrs. Weasley. "A broken arm?" she cried. "Let me see," she ordered.

            Obediently, Ron held up his right arm, which had on it a plaster cast up to his elbow. "A cast?" gasped Mrs. Weasley. "Why didn't they just heal it right up?"

            "I'm afraid I can answer that," interjected a tall man with long blonde hair. He was dressed in the dark blue cloaks of the staff and had a long stride as he entered the room carrying a clipboard.

            It was to that clipboard he consulted when he answered Mrs. Weasley's question. "There are a number of factors in that, Mrs. Weasley," he started. "For one, Ronald here also has seemed to have suffered from an extremely mild concussion- No, don't worry Mrs. Weasley," he said, observing the stricken look on her face. "No long lasting harm done from that. He will have a rather nasty headache that no charms will help, but there is some Muggle medicine we have that may lessen the pain." He held out a small bottle to Mrs. Weasley, who was beginning to look faint. She took it without speaking and deposited it in her large black handbag. "Now," he started again, "Then we went to work on his cuts and bruises, most of which are nicely healed. It wasn't until then both he and the staff realized his arm was injured. We immediately began to check on the damage and saw that it was rather extensive- two large, clean-cut breaks, and a number of small fractures. We were able to heal them all but one, a medium sized one near a large blood vessel. Unfortunately, since Ronald also suffered the very slight concussion, the vessel was inflamed, trying to rush blood to the brain, and we dared not use any magic near in fear that it would burst. So, we decided the best way to handle it was to slap a Muggle cast on it and let it heal itself!" he finished cheerily.

            He had lost Molly long ago back in the medical jargon, but Ron had followed him and found it very interesting. "I never dreamed of this happening," he said in disbelief. "I'm rather pleased," he confessed to his mother and the doctor. "It's kind of interesting."

            "Yes, well," said the doctor, his cheerfulness gone and a hurried note was now detectable in his voice. "You two are free to leave. You can settle the bill at the front desk and there is a fireplace down the hall from there. The floo powder is on us," he informed them, and quickly strode out the room, quickly as he had come.

            "I suppose we should go now," said Molly, warily regarding Ron's bright green cast a foreign object. "Can you walk?"

            "Of course, Mum," said Ron peevishly. He wasn't an invalid, after all. "I'm not dying or anything." He hoisted himself out of bed and gave his mother a sharp look. She realized he was wearing an open-backed hospital cloak and let herself out of the room. Boys, she thought crossly.

            A few minutes later, Ron emerged, holding his cast a little bit away from his body. "It's scratchy," he explained to Molly. They made their way to the front desk, with Ron giving directions.

            "That will be five galleons and two sickles," said the young witch working the front desk.

            Molly blushed. "Put it on her tab, please," she said quietly.

            "What'd you say?" asked the witch loudly.

            "I said," Molly repeated a little more loudly, "Put it on our tab."

            Ron turned away. He was also red up to the roots of his hair. He had always been embarrassed by their financial situation. He wandered off a bit to look at the magazines that were on a table in the waiting room.

            "I'm not sure if I can do that, Ma'm," said the witch, looking at Molly rather suspiciously.

            "You can," said Molly, becoming more and more embarrassed by the moment. "My husband works for the Ministry. Arthur Weasley. If something is wrong, you can take it up with him." Evidently, Molly had been through this before.

            "Alright," said the witch reluctantly. She wrote it down on a piece of paper and looked hard at Mrs. Weasley, still trying to decide whether a trick was being pulled on her or not. Molly just stared back. "Well," she said, withdrawing a small pouch from a drawer behind the desk, "here's your powder. The fireplace is just 'round the corner."

            "Thank you," said Molly, accepting the pouch. She called Ron and they walked around the corner to the large fireplace with its roaring flames. It was taller than either or them, and about 5 feet wide. She opened the pouch and tossed all of it's contents in. Straight away, it turned a bright green and the flames roared even higher. "To the Burrow!" she called once she stepped in. Ron followed right behind her, lading painfully on his arm once he arrived home. 

TBC….

A/N: So you've made it to the end! Good job! Now go back and review. ;)  

More clarification:

The hospital scene is the same day as when Ron fell out of the tree, which is the same say as Harry meets Luke. Got it? Probably not, but good luck anyways!

I know I made it seem like Ron's fall was a tumble to his death, and it was. What really happened will be revealed in upcoming chapters.

Speaking of which, this was a VERY long one, for me. 3,300 words of actual story! Would you like them to be this length, or shorter? Please let me know!

Xavien: No, he wasn't setting her up, but there will more problems with dear old Krum…stay tuned! And as for Ron, it was an arm, not a leg. But there will also be more found in his situation as well…I do drag out things, don't I?

Neonfizz: If I told you, wouldn't that rather ruin the story? But if you insist on knowing, *(SPOILER: DON'T READ IF YOU WANT TO BE SURPRISED!!!!!!!), as like some people have already guessed, they are the visions Harry should be receiving but somehow Ginny's got them instead.

Thanks also to Sarah-Anna. I appreciate everyone who reads the stories, but it's the reviews that keep me going!

Also, an improved version of this story has been posted at Fiction Alley, under The Dark Arts and the pen name Kara. I'll have a link in my profile. Go check it out!


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